


Taberu Rayu

by suspiciousflashlight



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Get Together, M/M, attempted blowjob, background karasuno mayhem, dangerously sexy math, discussion of small-scale home renovations, kuroo gives bad advice, misplaced faith in women's lifestyle magazines, reckless sexting, third-year friendship, yaku gives slightly better advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspiciousflashlight/pseuds/suspiciousflashlight
Summary: In hindsight, Suga can identify a number of guilty parties involved in the manufacturing of his own personal quarter-life crisis. He blames himself for his willingness to take a joke just a little tiny bit too far; he blames Daichi for having such nice, muscular thighs; he blames online women's lifestyle magazines for doling out questionable relationship advice to impressionable youths; he blames Kuroo for being, well, Kuroo.Mostly, though, Suga blames his own inordinate love of hot chili oil and Daichi's inability to comprehend exponential functions, because somehow, improbably, the collision of those two innocent variables is what kickstarts this whole mortifying situation in the first place.
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 38
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you as always to sally for her enthusiasm and diligence as my go-to beta!!

It starts with a calculus problem and a stubborn bottle of taberu rayu. Later, Suga will look back and think _how…?,_ even though the evidence will be there right in the conversation history on his phone, which he will scroll back through several times, and not always for detached investigative purposes, no matter what he tells himself. _Much_ later, Suga will look back again and think _wow, that was incredibly stupid_ and also _well, maybe it would have happened eventually anyway_ and also _but still, thank God Daichi sucks at exponential functions_.

It starts like this: Tuesday night, 10:30 p.m., and Suga is lying on his bed, snickering as he texts Asahi pictures of his fat old cat Mochi, who has fallen asleep on Suga’s duvet with her tongue sticking out and one eye half-open. Suga’s mom passes by his half-open door in her pajamas, shakes her head at him fondly, and says, “Don’t stay up too late, Kou…”

“I won’t,” he promises. “‘Night, Mom.”

 **Asahi:** is her eye supposed to do that?

 **Suga:** she’s winking at you!!!!!

 **Suga:** she told me a secret asahi… she loooooooves you

 **Suga:** ଲ(ⓛ ω ⓛ)ଲ

 **Asahi:** scary… she looks like a demon

 **Asahi:** you’re sure she’s alive, right?

Suga snorts, but he pokes Mochi’s jiggly belly just to be sure. Her ear twitches, and her other eye cracks open. Definitely alive. Good. With a little feline _mrp_ of displeasure, she hauls herself upright and pushes herself off the bed, stalking off into the hall with all the dignity her creaky, arthritic joints can manage.

Suga’s phone buzzes again, and he glances down at the screen, expecting another text from Asahi—but it’s Daichi this time. Hmm. How mysterious. Daichi is normally in bed by now.

 **Daichi:** Hey, are you still awake?

 **Suga:** yep! was hanging out with mochi but she cruelly abandoned me ( ╥ω╥ )

 **Suga:** what’s up? everything okay?

 **Daichi:** Yeah, just stuck on the math homework. Are you done all the questions?

 **Suga:** of course!! you seem to have forgotten that I am a model student who eats juicy derivatives for breakfast!!!!

 **Daichi:** Wow, yeah, somehow I did forget that.

Suga grins down at his phone. He can picture Daichi’s disgruntled expression, can hear his unimpressed tone, as if Daichi were standing right in front of him.

 **Suga:** (･ω<)☆

 **Suga:** which one are you stuck on? let me share my wisdom o youthful cherry blossom

 **Daichi:** I’m on #3.

Suga’s already digging his math textbook out of his backpack, but when his phone buzzes this time he frowns at it. Math comes more easily to Suga than it does to Daichi, but Daichi isn’t too bad at it either. If he’s only on the third exercise, either he’s taken too many volleyballs to the head lately or he’s only just started. Suga sets his textbook down on the bed, his notebook on top of it so he can reference his own solution to the problem, and lays down beside it on his back, sliding his knees up, holding his phone over his face.

 **Suga:** oh?????? what’s this???? nearly 11 and sawamura daichi is just starting his math homework??

 **Suga:** such a bad example for our kouhai… what would takeda-sensei say… maybe he’ll fire you and make me captain…

 **Daichi:** Very funny. There were extenuating circumstances.

 **Suga:** such as????

 **Daichi:** Well, I may have tried to open a jar of taberu rayu for my mom and the jar may have exploded all over me and the kitchen.

Suga throws his arm over his face to muffle a snort of laughter. He can picture that, too: Daichi in the t-shirt and shorts he wears around the house in the summer, scowling down at the jar, his ridiculous biceps straining as he struggles to twist the lid off—and the look of shock on his face when the lid finally comes free with a violent pop, sending chunky chili oil spraying everywhere.

 **Suga:** my goodness biceps-chan, you don’t know your own power

 **Daichi:** Apparently not. Anyway, the rayu went everywhere, so I had to clean up the kitchen, and then I had to take another bath. There are some places rayu should never go…

 **Suga:** wrong, rayu is delicious and belongs everywhere

 **Daichi:** It really doesn’t.

 **Suga:** wrong. very wrong. listen, I would lick rayu off a dirty bathroom floor. I would absolutely lick rayu off your gross sweaty thighs

 **Daichi:** That’s disgusting.

Suga bites lip, grinning. Daichi’s just so easy to tease. Two-and-a-half years of high school together mean Suga has learned exactly what to say to wind him up. Now he’s picturing Daichi sitting at his desk—that funny way he sits, with his legs all tucked up on the chair—pushing his phone away from him, massaging his temples like an old man, wearing the half-pained, half-laughing expression that says _Suga, why are you like this…_

Suga could stop now. He could leave the joke there and direct Daichi’s attention back to his math homework. It’s getting late, after all, and they have morning practice tomorrow at seven. He could do that. Or… 

**Suga:** oh dai-chan, the thought of your shapely thighs dripping with rayu has my maidenly heart all aflutter… take me now… _(:3 」∠)_

Daichi doesn’t respond right away, and Suga almost wonders if he’s gone too far. Suga’s teasing borders on flirtatious with lots of his close friends, not just Daichi. He gets the best reactions out of Asahi, who goes all red and flails around. Tanaka’s good too, because he plays along until Daichi or Ennoshita says, “Guys, _please…_ ” Lately, though, with Daichi, sometimes Suga’s been second-guessing himself. He doesn’t really know why. All Daichi ever does is roll his eyes or let out a longsuffering sigh, never seeming all that bothered by it—and Daichi isn’t the type to let that sort of thing slide, if it actually made him uncomfortable.

Suga pictures Daichi’s thighs, which are in fact very shapely, very muscular. Suga thinks he has the best thighs on the team, easily. Without meaning to, he pictures oil dripping down those thighs, catching in the divots where the different muscles meet, and feels his face heating up.

Okay, so maybe he _does_ know why he’s been second-guessing himself.

It’s not a crush. No. A crush would be pointless, because everyone knows Daichi is going to end up with Michimiya, his childhood friend, his counterpart on the girls’ volleyball team. Crushes are for pretty girls, and then if you’re brave you confess to the girl, and then if you’re lucky the girl likes you back and you date. You don’t do that with other boys, at least not at Karasuno; no one even talks about stuff like that. A crush on Daichi would be _completely_ pointless. So it’s not a crush. It’s just… something. An occasional heat in the pit of his stomach. Hormones. Friendly affection bumping up against some kind of line once in a while, the kind of line you’re not supposed to cross. Something like that.

Finally, Daichi texts back, and Suga lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, like he’s just surfaced from a dive.

 **Daichi:** You know you’re ridiculous, right? You’re aware of that?

 **Suga:** what’s that? I can’t hear you over the sound of me licking spicy oil off your abs (っ˘ڡ˘ς)

Suga sends the text before he can think better of it, his heart giving a nervous, electric stutter. What a rush, sending your best friend very slightly risqué texts late on a school night; Daichi’s right, he _is_ ridiculous.

 **Daichi:** I thought you were licking it off my thighs?

 **Suga:** okay we just established that I’m weak for rayu and will lick it off anywhere. try to keep up please

 **Daichi:** Right, my mistake.

 **Daichi:** You’d lick it off anywhere?

Blood rushes to Suga’s cheeks and makes his skin flush all the way down his neck, warm and heady. He flops over onto his stomach. What’s _that_ supposed to mean? Daichi has to know how that sounds, doesn’t he…? But then again, this is Daichi. Maybe he’s thinking of rayu all over his feet, or something. His feet, all sweaty and smelly after practice. That ought to be a sufficiently revolting image to quell the heat coiling Suga’s stomach into knots, the way his hips are pressing involuntarily down against the mattress…

It’s easier to say things like this across text, things that might actually make Suga blush if he said them in real life, because he can type them in the privacy of his room where no one can see him and no one has to know that they’re sort of turning him on. He doesn’t have to look Daichi in the face as he says _oh, let me lick your thighs_ , which is good, because he probably wouldn’t survive that.

But doing this over text is harder, too, _because_ he can’t see Daichi’s face or hear the tone of his voice. He can’t tell if Daichi is wrinkling his nose in distaste, which would _definitely_ mean he was thinking of his own gross sweaty feet, or if he sounds fondly exasperated, which would mean he was just playing along for fun. Or if he looks the way Suga feels right now, red-faced, prickly all over, curious about how far he can push…

 _You’d lick it off anywhere?_ What should Suga say back to that? The innuendo is laughing right in his face, breathing down his neck. Should he acknowledge it? He’s waited a few minutes to reply now. He could pretend he’s fallen asleep, but he doesn’t really want to. _Because of the math homework_ , Suga tells himself, _I promised I’d help him with it_ , though he knows perfectly well that’s not the real reason. Okay—he’ll make a joke. That’s all this is, after all. They’re just messing around. He’ll see how far Daichi will let him take it.

 **Suga:** daichi…

 **Suga:** please don’t put your dick in rayu…

 **Daichi:** Oh my God

 **Daichi:** Suga, if anyone was going to put his dick in rayu, we both know it’d be you.

Suga grins, and the heat in his stomach starts to cool. Okay, this is familiar ground. They _are_ just joking around after all.

 **Suga:** what can I say… I will never love any woman as much as I love taberu rayu… sad but true, it’s who I am ｡ﾟ･ (>﹏<) ･ﾟ｡

Daichi doesn’t text back after that, and after checking his phone a few more times, Suga forces himself to leave it on his desk and go to bed. He doesn’t want to be a total zombie at school tomorrow, during practice or in class. He’ll never catch up to Kageyama, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try anyway, and besides, he knows everyone is skeptical of the third-years staying on after inter-high when they should be preparing for university entrance exams—and everyone is especially skeptical of Suga, who isn’t even on the starting line. His teachers are just waiting for his grades to start to slip.

He lies awake for a while, though, wondering about Daichi in his own bedroom, at his desk, typing _you’d lick it off anywhere?—_ wondering what his face looked like as he typed it, wondering if his finger hesitated over the screen of his phone before he sent the text.

He never does end up helping Daichi with his math homework, in the end.

***

“Daichi-san, stop yawning or you’ll put us all to sleep!” says Tanaka during the warm-up for morning practice, and he gives Daichi a friendly punch on the shoulder. Suga looks down at the waxy wood floor, pretending to focus on bouncing through his set of high-knees while really eavesdropping intently.

“Sorry,” says Daichi, and it sounds like he’s stifling another yawn as he says it. “Late night.”

And that’s it. Well, obviously. Suga hardly expected Daichi to say anything to Tanaka about their texting— _sorry, I was up exchanging borderline flirty texts with our vice-captain, and by the way, when I texted him about licking rayu off anywhere, here is precisely what I meant…_

Daichi doesn’t bring up the texting later during the day, either. They go to their classes—Daichi seems to have survived exercise #3 in the math homework without Suga’s help—and they meet Asahi for lunch, and they go to afternoon practice, and the whole time Daichi is just Daichi, and everything is normal, and Suga thinks _okay, for sure we were just messing around_. That’s fine. He’s just glad to know.

“It’s mint green,” Daichi insists as the third-years walk home together after practice.

“It’s _clearly_ seafoam,” says Suga, shaking his head vehemently. He tugs on Asahi’s sleeve and demands, “Asahi! Mediate! Is Seijoh’s uniform white and mint, or white and seafoam?”

“Um,” says Asahi, looking panicked. “Um…”

“Yeah, Asahi, you’re good with colours,” says Daichi. “So which is it? Is Suga wrong, or am I right?”

“Red card, Sawamura, red card!” Suga exclaims. “You’re deliberately confusing him!”

“What are you, a soccer ref?”

“Asahi, my dearest and most handsomest friend, my sweet summer peach, love of my life, please explain to Daichi that _I’m_ right—”

“Don’t let him charm you, Asahi, tell him _I’m_ right—”

“Um, well, isn’t it more of a pale turquoise…?” Asahi suggests tentatively.

Daichi and Suga look at each other.

“Alright, Daichi’s wrong, but you’re clearly delusional,” Suga says. “Poor Asahi… and you were so young…”

“Suga, he’s delusional, not _dying_ ,” says Daichi.

“Thanks, guys,” Asahi says with a sigh.

Asahi leaves them at his usual turn, going right where Daichi and Suga both go left, and then it’s just Suga and Daichi, alone. They don’t have much further to go: Daichi’s house is just a few blocks up, after which Suga will walk the rest of the way home on his own, definitely not obsessing over those texts at all, nope, no way. Suga sneaks a glance at Daichi as they walk and catches Daichi looking right back at him.

“Your spiking is getting better,” Daichi says.

Suga knows he’ll never have the spiking power of Asahi or Tanaka or Kageyama, and he’ll never have Hinata’s supernatural speed, but hearing that from Daichi means a lot. He’s been working on his spiking for their synchro attacks and it’s finally starting to feel like he’s getting somewhere. “Thanks,” he says, grinning. “Maybe I can give you a few tips sometime.”

Daichi rolls his eyes and says, “Very funny. Hey, you know, I noticed this attack Fukurodani does with their setter—”

So they spend the rest of their walk together talking about volleyball. Which is fine.

In front of Daichi’s house they pause, and Suga says, as casually as he can manage, “If you’re still having trouble with your math, you could come over to my place for a bit and we can do the homework together.”

“Thanks, but I can’t tonight. Sorry,” says Daichi, looking apologetic. “My parents are out, so I have to make dinner for the kids.” He means his younger brother and sister, although he talks about them like they’re his own kids, which is a constant source of entertainment for Suga and Asahi. “But—tomorrow night? I—uh—I don’t really get this derivatives of exponential functions stuff.”

“Sure,” says Suga. He pokes Daichi in the stomach and adds lightly, “Try not to get rayu all over your kitchen this time, okay?”

Suga feels himself pushing up against that line again—it’s the first time either of them has said anything about last night out loud. Mostly, he’s waiting to see Daichi laugh it off or groan at the memory of having to scrub rayu out of the kitchen tiles, to confirm they haven’t talked about it only because there’s nothing to talk about. To Suga’s profound interest, though, Daichi’s face flushes. “Ah… right,” he says. “I’ll—yeah. I won’t.”

***

Alone in his room after dinner, Suga flops on his bed again with Mochi cuddled up beside him and pulls out his phone. He goes back to his conversation with Daichi: they haven’t sent each other any more texts since last night. Well, of course not. They’ve been together all day. Everything Daichi could possibly have wanted to say to Suga, he’s had the chance to say in person.

Suga scrolls back up through their conversation. _I thought you were licking it off my thighs?_ Daichi said, and then, _You’d lick it off anywhere?_ Taberu rayu is spicy and garlicky and delicious, but if you’d asked Suga yesterday to classify every food in the world into a binary of _sexy_ and _unsexy_ , he’d probably have put rayu in the latter category. Tonight, though, just looking at the bottle on the kitchen counter had been enough to make Suga go a little pink at dinner. His mom had kept trying to make him take his temperature.

Now he thinks again about Daichi’s thighs, which he found himself noticing more than usual during their practices today. Daichi just looks so good in his practice shorts. He looks so good in everything, but especially in those practice shorts, which show off a few inches of bare leg above his knees. It’s really not fair. Suga pictures kneeling in front of him, wrapping his slender fingers around Daichi’s bare calves, bringing his hands up the backs of Daichi’s legs, feeling the corded muscle from years of jumping and running and lunging to dig the ball. He wonders if Daichi would like being touched there. Suga lets his free hand ghost down his own thighs, brushing the skin right on the inside of his leg where the boxers he wears to bed end. He shivers.

Right on cue, Suga’s phone buzzes, and he nearly drops it on his face in shock, fumbling frantically to read the notification—

 **Asahi:** do you have my kneepads? they’re not in my bag (-_-)

Oh. He’d hoped…

Suga makes himself take a few deep breaths, then gets up and checks his gym bag, where he does indeed find an extra pair of kneepads; Asahi must have stuck them in there by accident when they were getting changed after practice. He texts Asahi back, and brushes his teeth, and goes downstairs to say goodnight to his mom, who’s still watching TV in the living room. _It’s late_ , he tells himself. _Go to bed. Go to bed and stop fantasizing about your best friend’s thighs, you creep._ When he grabs his phone off his bed to put it on his desk, though, he has a few new notifications: a text from Asahi expressing gratitude for the location of the mislaid kneepads, and—three texts from Daichi. He reads the first one and sinks down onto his bed slowly, rereading it again and then again, his heart pulsing in his throat.

 **Daichi:** Hey, is it weird that I keep thinking about you licking rayu off my legs?

 **Daichi:** I’m taking your silence to mean that it is weird, so maybe just forget I said anything, haha.

 **Daichi:** Suga?

 **Suga:** sorry!!! I was brushing my teeth!!!!

Hmm. That’s not exactly a sexy answer. Not that he’s trying to be sexy, obviously. But if he were—which he’s not—he’d be failing miserably. He tries again.

 **Suga:** it’s not weird at all, in fact many people spend their days thinking about me licking rayu off their legs because I am so handsome and alluring, so welcome to my fan club sir ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_

He doesn’t wait for Daichi to reply, instead hammering out the next text and sending it before he can second-guess himself.

 **Suga:** anyway I may have been thinking about licking rayu off your legs too so there you go

 **Daichi:** Just my legs?

Suga swallows. His face is hot. Actually, all of him feels hot. Last night he’d thought maybe it was an accident— _you’d lick it off anywhere?_ —but Daichi has to know what he’s doing, he _has_ to. This time he’s the one pushing the line. And Suga wants to push back, just to… see what happens. But he’s not quite brave enough to stop joking around just yet. He wants to be able to backtrack if he needs to, he wants a way to say _just kidding_ and get the hell out of there if it turns out he’s horribly misinterpreting everything.

 **Suga:** you really just want to put your dick in a jar of rayu huh

 **Daichi:** You got me. It’s my dream.

Suga gets off the bed and walks around his room for a minute, glancing down at his phone every few seconds. Daichi hasn’t followed up at all. Maybe that’s the end of it. He tells himself that’s good. Any further and things might get weird between them, and he absolutely does not want that at all, ever. It’s late. He should go to bed.

He glances down at his phone again and sticks his thumb under the waistband of his boxers. The skin there feels feverish. He’s half hard already, which is ridiculous and embarrassing; Daichi’s texts aren’t exactly explicit. They’re _barely_ even suggestive. Suga just has a wildly overactive imagination, apparently.

It’s a bad, bad idea, but his heart is pounding and his head is hazy, and he wants to keep pushing at that line—he wants to keep pushing so badly, instead of leaving this all vague and unfinished again like last night and spending tomorrow trying to guess what Daichi was thinking. He texts Daichi back and then presses his phone to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut, turned on and terrified at the same time. In the hall he hears the floor creak quietly as his mom steps carefully past his door, probably trying not to wake him. Ha.

 **Suga:** you know you don’t need to endure the capsaicin burns first if you want me to put my mouth on your dick… you can just ask (･ω<)☆

To keep himself from panicking outright, he starts counting in his head, and makes it to twenty-one before his phone buzzes against his chest. 

**Daichi:** Capsaicin?

Oh… okay. So Daichi isn’t going to push the joke further. That’s alright. Suga’s disappointment is matched by his relief. He reads his last text again and figures he can probably play that off as teasing, too, and they can keep their friendship just the way it is now, nudging against that line every so often without ever crossing it.

 **Suga:** it’s the compound in chili peppers that makes them feel like they’re burning your skin ~(>_<~) iwasaki-sensei talked about it in science last week!! pay more attention!!!

 **Daichi:** Oh right

 **Daichi:** So… if I did ask, what would you say?

The line snaps with a silent _twang_ that Suga feels reverberate all around his ribcage. _Oh my God_ , he thinks, suddenly lightheaded. He shoos a disgruntled Mochi off his bed, sliding his door open as quietly as possible so he can herd her out into the hallway. He feels kind of bad for disturbing her, but having his childhood pet cuddled up beside him while he’s doing… _this…_ whatever _this_ exactly is… well, it seems wrong. Before he closes his door, he listens for a moment; the tap runs in the bathroom down the hall, not quite obscuring his mother’s absent-minded, off-tune humming. She’ll be in bed soon, so he should be alright if he stays really quiet. His fingers are going white at the knuckles where he’s clutching his phone as he slides the door closed and sprawls on his bed, on his stomach again, so he can press his hips down against the mattress. The pressure sends heat spiking from his crotch all the way up through his chest. Even his fingertips feel kind of tingly.

 **Daichi:** Suga?

 **Suga:** I wouldn’t say anything because I’d already be on my knees

Oh God. He can’t believe he just wrote that. He can’t believe he just _sent_ that. To _Daichi._ Daichi’s going to think he’s some sort of—

 **Daichi:** oh my god

 **Daichi:** You’d look good like that

Suga stifles a moan and shifts his position, letting one leg slide off the side of the bed so he can grind down against the corner of the mattress. He presses his fingers to his throat; he feels hot there, hot all over. He’s sure he has to be flushed all the way down his chest, red and blotchy and ugly, the same way he flushes in the sun at the height of summer, or after a practice game that’s gone on for set after set. Good thing Daichi can’t see him—good thing Suga gets to hide behind rows of bland characters on a tiny screen, organizing himself however he wants so he can smooth over all the embarrassing bits.

Although—he wonders what Daichi looks like right now. Is he on his bed? At his desk? After practice he’s always red across the cheeks from exertion. Is he blushing like that now? Is he hard too? Suga pictures Daichi’s sparse, neat bedroom, where the bed is always made with hospital precision, where there’s never laundry on the floor, where you have a perfect view of the moon rising through the window in the summer at just about this time of night. He pictures Daichi sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing those practice shorts (they probably smell bad from all the sweat, but this is Suga’s fantasy, so he can edit that little detail out). He pictures Daichi’s legs splayed open, the bulge of his hard-on prominent through the thin fabric. He pictures kneeling between Daichi’s legs, his hands pressed against the insides of Daichi’s thighs, his fingers slipping just under the edges of his shorts, Daichi’s muscular legs trembling with anticipation.

Suga bites his lip hard, until it hurts. He’s putting off actually touching himself; he doesn’t want to rush. He types _I’d_ and then stares at his screen blankly, thinking _uh…_

Crap. How do you give a blowjob, anyway? Do you use your tongue? What for? Are you really supposed to be able to fit the whole thing in your mouth? What do you do after you get it in there? Sex ed in school has made Suga fairly confident in his ability to not get a girl pregnant, but that’s the extent of it, and he’s pretty sure that that particular skillset is neither relevant nor useful right now. He hasn’t watched a lot of porn, either; the videos always just end up making him uncomfortable. When he gets off by himself his ideas about sex are vague and blurred, very handwave-y, but he can’t exactly text Daichi _I’d, eh, you know…_ and expect him to get it. So what do people normally talk about when they sext—because that’s basically what they’re doing right now, isn’t it? Very badly, alright, very awkwardly, but—

 **Suga:** I’ve been thinking about touching your thighs all day. they look so good in your stupid practice shorts, I was watching you at practice and I just kept thinking about how I really wanted to kiss your thighs

There. It’s not very eloquent and probably not all that sexy but it’s the truth, and it’ll buy him at least a minute or two to do some frantic internet research. Thank God for private browsers… He’s typing _how do you give a good blowjob please help SOS_ into the search bar when his phone buzzes again.

 **Daichi:** My thighs are pretty ticklish so I might just end up kneeing you in the face. Sorry.

Suga snorts with laughter, then claps a hand over his mouth, hoping he wasn’t loud enough for his mom to hear. Well, at least Daichi’s being honest.

 **Suga:** oh dai-chan, always so tender and sensual

 **Daichi:** But I’d try really hard not to.

 **Suga:** wow such a gentleman… refraining from concussing me while I’m sucking your cock… true boyfriend material

 **Daichi:** fuck

 **Daichi:** suga

 **Suga:** what?

 **Daichi:** Just

 **Daichi:** You’re really good at this

Wait. He is?

 **Daichi:** it’s really hot

 **Daichi:** you’re really hot

Suga swallows back another moan, or maybe more like a whimper, and rolls over onto his back (quietly, so that the mattress doesn’t creak). He lets one hand drift down his body, lingering over his bare stomach where his t-shirt has ridden up for a moment before finally, tentatively touching himself through his underwear. The head of his cock has already left a damp spot, the skin slipping against the fabric in a way that makes his whole body thrum. He clenches his eyes tightly shut and squeezes his hand very gently around himself and thinks _don’t come yet, don’t come yet, don’t come yet…_

Suga can’t help but notice that the quality of Daichi’s typing has degraded. Daichi is normally so precise, all his texts grammatical and properly punctuated, as if he expects to have his phone confiscated by their Japanese teacher for grading purposes at any moment. Not right now, though. Daichi usually texts with both hands, but it seems like maybe he’s having some trouble at the moment. Interesting.

 **Suga:** what are you doing right now?

 **Daichi:** my math homework

 **Daichi:** what the hell do you think I’m doing suga I’ll give you three guesses

Ooh, no punctuation _and_ a run-on sentence. Daichi is definitely texting one-handed right now. Getting off to the thought of Suga’s mouth on his cock. That’s… well, in Daichi’s words, that’s really hot, ridiculously hot. Suga pictures himself between Daichi’s legs again, Daichi’s hard-on flush against his cheek, a sticky-damp spot already leaking through the fabric, heat radiating through his shorts as Suga noses against him. Alone in his room, Suga shudders, his hips jerking up into the friction of his hand.

 **Suga:** three guesses huh?

 **Suga:** okay #1 curve sketching log functions

 **Suga:** #2 jerking off while you picture me on my knees swallowing your whole cock and drooling all over you

 **Suga:** #3 logarithmic differentiation

(Suga hopes he doesn’t sound as ridiculous as he feels. He’s trying not to laugh, knowing full well that he’s lying through his teeth right now; there’s absolutely no way he’d be able to cram a whole dick in his mouth without gagging and breaking down into a very unsexy fit of choking and coughing. The article in the peppy online women’s magazine he has open on his phone right now reassures him that deep-throating is not mandatory and that using your hands on the bits you can’t fit in your mouth is “totally allowed!” He can’t quite visualize how that works, nor can he visualize the “three ultimate tongue cheats!” the article describes to “make your man feel like he’s slamming the back of your throat!”, so he thinks saying it like this is just simpler and less confusing.)

 **Daichi:** fuck suga

 **Suga:** was I right

 **Daichi:** maybe

 **Suga:** it’s the logarithmic differentiation isn’t it

 **Daichi:** yeah it is

 **Suga:** I knew it… you’re so dirty…

 **Daichi:** suga

 **Daichi:** I wish you were here right now

Suga wishes that, too. He pictures slipping Daichi’s shorts down his hips, reaching up to rub his thumb over the slit of Daichi’s cock a few times (Suga likes doing that when he gets off, he’s doing it to himself right now through his boxers in fact, maybe Daichi would like it too). He pictures leaning forward to run his tongue across the underside of the head (“The frenulum, or underside of the head of the penis, is super sensitive to tongue action!” asserts the peppy women’s magazine). He pictures taking the whole head into his mouth, letting it rest on his tongue while he tightens his lips around it and sucks (as per the directive of the peppy women’s magazine), and looking right up at Daichi, looking him right in the eyes while Suga kneels there with his cock in his mouth. In reality Suga thinks he might be too shy for that, but in the privacy of his own head he can be as bold as he wants.

He slides his hand into his boxers and starts stroking himself in earnest, his breath coming faster already, almost panting.

 **Suga:** oh??? what would you do if I was there

 **Daichi:** uh

 **Suga:** paint me a word picture daichi

 **Daichi:** I don’t know

 **Daichi:** sorry

 **Daichi:** you’re better at this than me

 **Daichi:** I just really want to touch you

A little thrill of satisfaction blooms deep in the pit of Suga’s stomach. He doesn’t care if Daichi can’t think of anything to say. Knowing Daichi likes what Suga’s saying, likes hearing Suga talk about sucking him off, likes it a lot, likes it enough to sacrifice his militant grammatical standards so he can text Suga with one hand and touch himself with the other—knowing all that makes Suga hot enough already. His hips twitch as he rocks up into his own hand, now sticky and slick as he leaks more pre-come. He’s close, really close, that familiar, prickly heat unfurling in his balls. He types frantically, barely thinking about what he’s saying anymore.

 **Suga:** would you jerk me off after I’d finished sucking your cock

 **Suga:** I’d let you come on my face if you wanted to

(This was another tip from the peppy women’s magazine; Suga feels like he owes the magazine’s editor a heartfelt letter of thanks at this point, and maybe a department store gift-card or something for her troubles. He wouldn’t actually let Daichi come on his face, because that sounds super gross, especially if it got in his hair, but whatever. It’s not like Daichi’s going to show up at his door and demand to see him deliver on all his inexperienced, optimistic promises right this second, so Suga is just saying whatever will make him sound like he knows what he’s doing.)

 **Suga:** sucking you off would really turn me on so it probably wouldn’t take long

 **Suga:** in fact I’d probably be jerking off the second I had my mouth on you because you’d be so hot like that and I’m weak so you could just step in at the end and take all the credit

 **Suga:** then you could get right back to your true love, logarithmic differentiation

 **Daichi:** oh my god

 **Daichi:** anything I’d do anything you wanted if you let me

Suga’s whole body shudders when he comes, his knees jerking up reflexively, the screen of his phone blurring hazily in front of him before he drops it and squeezes his eyes shut. He pretends it’s Daichi’s hand stroking him through this, Daichi’s hand that he’s spilling all over right now, Daichi kneeling between his legs, Daichi watching him come (Suga thinks he probably makes an embarrassing face when he comes but, once again, this is all in his head, so why not)—Daichi’s voice saying _this is really hot, Suga, you’re really hot_ —

Afterwards, he lies there for a bit, panting, wrung-out, sweat adhering his bare skin to his duvet, his heart-rate slowly settling back to normal, his full-body blush cooling along with the sticky, unpleasant mess in his boxers. He feels boneless and exhausted; his hands shake a bit when he finally manages to strip off the nasty boxers, wipe himself off, and shove the boxers right down to the bottom of his laundry basket under all his gym clothes. His head buzzes blankly, as if he came so hard his brain has to reboot. He puts his phone on the desk, crawls under his duvet, and falls asleep in minutes.

***

Somewhere in the territory of 3:00 a.m., Suga wakes up to the sound of Mochi slamming herself against his door, demanding to be let in. He fumbles his way blearily across his dark room to slide the door open, then scoops her up and carries her over to his bed, where she settles down into a big fluffy blob.

He slips under the duvet and tries to go back to sleep, but now that he’s gotten out of bed he’s wide awake. The notification light on his phone is blinking, and he can’t resist reaching over to check it, still too tired to decide whether he’s anxious or excited. It’s not Daichi, though, it’s just a couple of messages in the volleyball club’s group chat from earlier in the night—a video clip Ennoshita shared from the Russian National Team, followed by Hinata and Tanaka all freaking out over how cool some move or other is, followed by Kageyama making a snarky comment addressed to Hinata, followed by Tsukishima making a snarky comment addressed to Hinata _and_ Kageyama, followed by...

Normally Suga likes catching up on his teammates’ bickering, but right now he closes the thread without reading all the way to the end, and opens his conversation with Daichi instead. Skimming the messages he’d sent, his face starts to burn again, not with arousal this time but with mortification. Apparently he turns into a real idiot when he’s horny. Did Daichi actually like any of that garbage he said? Maybe Daichi was too polite to say anything, so he just played along. Yikes. That’s…

Suga sets his phone back down. He wraps an arm around his knees and sinks his other hand into Mochi’s fur and spends a bit of quality time just short of hyperventilating, thinking _oh God oh God oh God why did I do that, why the hell did I let myself do that?_


	2. Chapter 2

For maybe the fourth time in his entire high school career, Suga oversleeps and has to sprint out the door with a hasty, “Bye, Mom!” shouted over his shoulder. He doesn’t see Daichi as he races to school—no surprise there; Daichi is _always_ on time—but he does nearly collide with Asahi rounding the corner as he starts up the hill to Karasuno.

Asahi looks about the way Suga feels right now—already sweaty, dishevelled, slightly panicked. “Slept in?” Suga pants as they fall into step beside each other and struggle up the hill.

Asahi nods, gasping for breath, and drags a hand across his forehead to wipe away the tendrils of hair that have escaped from his hastily knotted bun. “I was up late—my English homework—I just can’t get it,” he manages, and then falls silent for a moment as he catches his breath. “Could you—um—help me out? I know it’s way easier than your university prep stuff—but—”

“Sure, tonight,” Suga promises absently. His thighs are burning from the climb, he’s clutching at a stitch in his side, and he’s highly aware that the closer they get to school, the closer he gets to having to look Daichi in the face and pretend he didn’t spend his evening getting off to the thought of going down on him.

“Whoa, you guys are even later than me!” Tanaka exclaims when Suga and Asahi finally stagger into the gym, and Suga’s too busy reminding his lungs how to function to come up with a sharp retort.

“We’re doing receiving drills. You two can partner up together,” says Daichi, catching the ball Ennoshita sends at him so he can pause to talk to them. His gaze is neutral, settling somewhere between Suga and Asahi, not paying one of them any more attention than the other. Well—he’s not ignoring Suga, at least. That’s something. Suga hopes he’s not blushing, although he’s probably so red from running up the hill that no one would notice anyway.

He goes through the whole day feeling the same way he felt after the first time he had a sex dream, jumpy and slightly guilty, like there’s a big sign on his back telling everyone what he’s done, like his classmates and teachers are all poised to turn around at any second and say, “Did you really tell Sawamura Daichi that you’d swallow his whole cock? _Really?_ His _whole_ cock?” And, just like yesterday, Daichi somehow manages to act… normal. Totally normal. So normal Suga sneaks a look at his phone in between classes at one point to make sure it actually was Daichi he was texting. Suga spends most of their contemporary literature class staring at the back of Daichi’s head two rows in front of him, ignoring Takeda-sensei’s lesson on _Fires on the Plain_ in favour of trying to develop some kind of telepathic connection that will let him determine what Daichi is thinking—if he’s really interested in Private Tamura wandering through the Phillipine jungle or whatever nonsense is going on in the novel right now, or if he’s as fixated on last night as Suga is.

“Sugawara-kun, I know it’s almost lunch, but try to stay focused, please,” Takeda-sensei says partway through class. The reprimand is mild—Takeda-sensei isn’t known for being super strict, although he can be when he has to—but a few of Suga’s classmates snicker, and Suga can feel himself going red as he mutters an apology. He looks down at his notebook just as Daichi glances over at him, meeting his eyes for a second before Suga starts to scribble notes on the lesson.

They eat with Asahi at lunch as usual, which gives Suga the chance to distract himself by stealing as many pieces of pork out of Asahi’s lunch as he can manage.

“You’ve eaten half of it already!” Asahi protests, hunching over his lunch and trying to fend Suga off.

“Have not! Don’t be greedy,” says Suga, lunging around him and snagging another piece, which he pops into his mouth before Asahi can snatch it back.

“Suga, if you make him go hungry, you’ll stunt his growth,” Daichi points out. He’s keeping his own lunch well out of Suga’s reach, which is both uncalled for and unfair. His gakuran is folded neatly on the grass next to him thanks to the heat, and his shirt-sleeves are rolled up, with the top two buttons left open to show off a modest bit of collarbone. That’s uncalled for and unfair, too.

“Good!” says Suga. “Asahi’s too big already. He could use a little growth stunting. Now, me, I need all the help I can get…”

“Don’t you want Asahi big and strong? Like a real ace?” says Daichi.

“Hey, I am a real ace!” says Asahi.

“Maybe I’ll get big and strong instead and take Asahi’s spot,” Suga suggests. He lowers his voice to sound like a sports announcer. “ _And here comes Karasuno’s ace Sugawara-kun—he sets the ball—and what’s this, he’s going to spike it too? That’s illegal, but the ref is so impressed he’s letting it slide! Sugawara-kun blasts through Date Tech’s infamous iron wall for another kill! That’s his tenth break point in a row! The crowd goes wild!_ Hmm? What about it?”

Daichi and Asahi both laugh in his face.

Finally, when they’re getting changed in the club room after practice, Daichi turns to Suga and says, “Uh—are you still—yesterday you said—” Daichi is red-faced and sweaty from practice, so Suga can’t tell if he’s embarrassed, but he does have to clear his throat and try again, which doesn’t happen often. “Will you still help me with math tonight?”

“Sure,” says Suga. He’d forgotten he’d offered yesterday. And, on an impulse, before he has a chance to think it through, he adds, “We can even try some logarithmic differentiation if you want. Just for fun.”

“Ew,” says Nishinoya, wrinkling his nose as if Suga has just suggested going skinny-dipping in a dumpster full of six-month-old garbage. “That doesn’t sound fun at all. Just hearing the word _logarithm_ gives me hives, look—”

“Those are freckles, my dude,” says Tanaka.

“Actually I think that’s just dirt,” says Kinoshita.

“Hives!” Nishinoya insists. “I need a popsicle, stat!”

Suga laughs along with them, but he’s looking at Daichi, who is suddenly very busy arbitrarily rearranging all of the books in his school bag and not looking at him at all. Suga’s mom is working late tonight, which means she won’t be home until at least eight, which means Suga and Daichi will be all alone for several hours. Hmm. Suga’s pulse has already started to pick up. He wonders if he should start reviewing that women’s magazine article.

“Um, Suga…” says Asahi, and the memory of agreeing to help Asahi with his English this morning hits Suga like a stampeding rhinoceros. He wants to grab Asahi and shake him vigorously until he manages to dislodge all thoughts of English homework from Asahi’s head by sheer force.

But Suga doesn’t, obviously. He forces a sunny smile and says to Daichi, “Ah, that’s right! My services are very in-demand today, so you’ll have to share me with Asahi.”

“Oh, okay,” says Daichi. Suga wants him to sound bitterly disappointed about having Asahi inadvertently third-wheeling, but he doesn’t, really. If that’s how Daichi feels—that’s definitely how Suga feels—he’s doing a good job of hiding it.

“How come you guys always get to have Suga-san teaching you stuff? It’s not fair!” complains Hinata as he struggles valiantly to put on a shirt that’s half inside-out. “You should let the rest of us have a turn with him too!”

Suga tugs the shirt out of Hinata’s hands and flips it right-side-out for him. “Sorry, Hinata, the upperclassmen get first dibs. But hey, if you need help with your homework, you can always ask Kageyama…”

Tsukishima laughs so hard he has to sit down for a while before he can finish getting dressed, and Kageyama slaps the back of Hinata’s head with a scowl, while Hinata complains, “Hey, what are you hitting _me_ for, Suga-san’s the one who said it—!”

***

At Suga’s house, Suga fries fish and steams vegetables for dinner, while Asahi cooks the rice and warms the soup, and Daichi washes the dishes. They make an extra portion that Suga can set aside for his mom to eat later. Suga helps Asahi with his English homework, explaining some of the grammar while Daichi works on the assignment for Takeda-sensei’s class; then Suga leaves Asahi to do his Japanese homework while Suga and Daichi do their math. The three of them sit at the table in Suga’s living room together the whole time, except for a few precious minutes when Asahi gets up to go to the bathroom.

The second Asahi is out of the room, Suga looks sidelong at Daichi, hoping they’ll finally get to talk, but Daichi is busy glaring at his textbook, huffing out increasingly frustrated sighs as he scratches out calculation after calculation.

“Just skip that question and come back to it later,” Suga suggests. He rests his head on one hand and watches Daichi’s jaw muscles shift as he clenches his pencil between his teeth. Even frowning and irritable, he’s really handsome. The sleeves of his t-shirt fit snugly around his biceps. Suga pictures plucking at the fabric so he can slip his fingers inside and run his hands over Daichi’s big shoulders.

“That stops working when you do it on every single question,” says Daichi. He rubs his temples, his gaze still fixed on the textbook. “Maybe I should drop out of school and join a gang or something.”

“You’d be a terrible gangster,” says Suga. “The police would bust you on your very first bank holdup because you’d insist on driving exactly the speed limit in your getaway car. Your gangster boss would fire you immediately.”

Daichi snorted. “I think getting fired from being a gangster means they just shoot you. Besides, you don’t _have_ to rob banks.”

“Hmm, yes, I guess you could be a generic gangster thug instead,” Suga says thoughtfully. “You can be pretty intimidating… but listen, if you go for a job interview, make sure you bring Asahi with you. The gangster hiring manager will be very impressed that you already have such disreputable associates.”

“The gangster hiring manager?” says Daichi. He’s grinning down at his textbook. “Suga, I don’t think you understand how organized crime works…”

“Well, _I_ think you should just do your math homework and stay in school. Could you really give up on your lifelong dream of becoming Japan’s beefiest accountant?” says Suga.

“You mean the lifelong dream that you just invented for me right this second?”

“No, no, I distinctly remember you saying it when we first met at practice… _my name is Sawamura Daichi, and my dream is to become our great nation’s hunkiest CPA, suplexing tax audits one flex at a time_ —”

“Hey, Suga, do you think before you speak, or is there just some kind of randomized text generator in your brain that puts sentences together for you?”

“Excuse _me_ , it’s not _my_ fault my brain functions at a level beyond the comprehension of you mere mortals,” Suga huffs, but he has to slide his hand over to cover his mouth so he can hide his smile. He’s happy like this, he decides. If not talking about last night is what lets him and Daichi go back to being friends, then that’s fine. He’ll get over all the hormonal stuff, eventually. He’s just desperately afraid of messing up their friendship.

“I still might fail our next math test, though,” says Daichi, tapping his pencil resentfully against the page of problems in his textbook.

“Okay, here’s a compromise,” says Suga. “If you flunk out of school, you can become an accountant stripper instead—you know, you go to clubs in a suit and say _did someone here order a business valuation?_ And then you rip off your pants—”

Daichi rubs the back of his neck and mutters, “Yeah, right, no one wants to see that…” He’s still staring down at his notes. He hasn’t looked up at Suga once since Asahi left, which is kind of annoying.

“Oh, come on,” says Suga. “You know me and Asahi would be in the front row every night. We’d bring the whole team. You’d be great. You could make actuarial mathematics hot again.”

And finally Daichi looks up, looks right at Suga, not really laughing anymore. He has a weird expression on his face, one Suga doesn’t recognize. “You always say stuff like that,” says Daichi.

Suga blinks, caught off guard. “Huh? I do?”

“Yeah, like in Tokyo when you told Bokuto he should be an underwear model…”

Suga snorts. He’d forgotten he’d said that. Bokuto’s whole face had lit up and he’d gone, “Hey, hey, yeah, y’know what, I should! Hey, Akaashi, did you hear what the Karasuno vice-captain said? Did you hear? Good idea, right? Because I have such a nice butt? I bet my butt could sell so much underwear…” And Akaashi had given Suga a pained look that said _you have put this terrible idea in his head and left me to deal with the consequences, and I would rip your spine out with my teeth right now if not for the fact that getting tried for murder would ruin my perfect attendance record._

“You say stuff like that to lots of people,” says Daichi. He still has that weird look on his face. Suga thinks about last night and his heart gives an uncomfortable, panicked stutter. Is this Daichi’s roundabout way of telling him to back off?

“I’m just teasing,” says Suga, forcing himself to keep smiling. “I’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable, though.”

“No, that’s not what I—”

And of course Asahi chooses that precise moment to return. His gruff, intimidating face is creased with worry. “Suga,” he says, “I think your cat is trying to give me bad luck—she keeps looking at me funny…”

***

 **Suga:** hey!! ( ´ ∀ ` )ﾉ can you spare a minute to address an important hypothetical question for your dear friend and detested rival??

 **Yaku:** sure! I love hypothetical questions! what’s up?

 **Suga:** well let’s say, hypothetically, yesterday evening you and your best friend accidentally ended up passionately sexting each other for a while and one thing led to another and so on but then at school today neither of you addressed it…

 **Suga:** I’ve forgotten what exactly my question was but that’s weird right…

 **Yaku:** (°ロ°)

 **Yaku:** uh…

 **Yaku:** am I right in assuming that this hypothetical question might, hypothetically, be about you

 **Suga:** hypothetically, yes

 **Yaku:** I thought your best friends were those two other third-years on your team? the captain and your scary ace?

 **Suga:** that’s correct

 **Yaku:** oh

 **Yaku:** I see

 **Yaku:** so you’re

 **Yaku:** I mean I don’t want to jump to conclusions but you’re a guy and they’re guys so

 **Yaku:** do you see where I’m going with this

 **Suga:** yes no comment

 **Yaku:** okay got it

 **Yaku:** just to be clear though obviously it doesn’t bother me or anything, my sister dates girls so… if you need to talk or anything, I’m around. or if it was just a one-time thing that you now regret with every fibre of your being that’s cool too

 **Suga:** (´ ∀ ` *)

 **Suga:** thank you, that’s really nice

 **Suga:** I do in fact need to talk

 **Yaku:** about the hypothetical sexting dilemma?

 **Suga:** about the hypothetical sexting dilemma, that’s right

 **Yaku:** so was it the captain or the scary ace

 **Suga:** oh it was the captain… if I had sexted asahi he probably would have blocked my number and moved to thailand to be a monk

 **Yaku:** seems extreme but okay

 **Yaku:** seriously it was sawamura?? sawamura sent you sexy texts??? he seems so uptight

 **Suga:** he’s not really

 **Yaku:** at training camp I saw him counting the broccolis in his curry...

 **Suga:** yeah he doesn’t like it when the meat to vegetable ratio is unbalanced

 **Yaku:** oh cool, that’s totally chill and normal

 **Yaku:** so what’s the goal here, is this a feelings type situation or a surviving with your dignity intact situation

 **Suga:** yes and yes

 **Yaku:** hmm I see

 **Yaku:** and you guys haven’t talked about it

 **Suga:** no

 **Yaku:** have you considered… talking about it

 **Suga:** no but I have considered moving to thailand to be a monk

 **Yaku:** okay is this just a you thing, or is everyone at karasuno 4 seconds away from monasticism at any given moment

 **Suga:** it’s the country air out here in miyagi, it makes us all very devout!!

 **Yaku:** right, so devout you ended up with a hypothetical sexting dilemma… well you’re not going to like this but I think you should talk to him about it. I mean he probably feels awkward too so I bet he’s waiting for you to bring it up just like you’re waiting for him to bring it up

 **Yaku:** and remember, if it goes terribly, thailand’s monasteries will always be there for you

 **Suga:** I guess… 

**Yaku:** okay final question… was it hot

 **Suga:** indescribably hot

 **Yaku:** nice

 **Suga:** except when he said he might accidentally knee me in the face…

 **Yaku:** oh. huh. like. in a kinky way?

 **Suga:** no…

 **Yaku:** hmm

 **Yaku:** I’ll see if I can get kuroo to give him a few subtle tips

 **Yaku:** I wouldn’t want my dear friend and detested rival to have subpar accidental sexting experiences in the future

 **Suga:** aw thanks, you’re so sweet (´｡• ω •｡`) ♡

***

Suga curls up beside Mochi on his bed and opens his conversation with Daichi for probably the millionth time that day. He spends some quality time reading over his own messages and cringing with embarrassment; then he spends some quality time reading over Daichi’s texts and getting turned on all over again. Then he sets his phone down, looks Mochi in her half-closed eyes, and says, “I’m a disaster, aren’t I?”

Mochi just tucks a paw over her face and starts to snore, cute little wheezy snores that are probably a bad physiological side-effect of her borderline obesity.

Suga picks up his phone again and looks at the very last text from Daichi: _I’d do anything you wanted if you let me._ Is that true? What does that even mean? Does that only apply to sex stuff? Or would he do other stuff, too—like, dating stuff? Holding hands? Introducing Suga to his parents? Well—Daichi’s parents already know Suga—but introducing Suga as his, ah, his, well, his… boyfriend, or whatever?

Suga types, _you were really hot last night_ , and then deletes it.

He tries again: _you looked really nice today._ But that’s weird; he and Daichi don’t normally talk to each other like that.

He tries a third time: _when you were over tonight I kept thinking about holding your hand under the table_. It’s true, but ugh, it feels so middle-school…

Another attempt: _so do you get off with all your friends or is it just me_? He pictures Daichi sending suggestive texts to Asahi and has to stuff his face into his pillow to muffle his laughter. But—what if Daichi says yes? What if he and Asahi do this together all the time? Suga’s not laughing anymore, his stomach twisting with jealousy instead. He’s not sure he wants to know.

Okay, maybe: _what did you mean when you said you’d do anything I wanted?_

How about: _daichi if you couldn’t tell already, I really like you a lot!!!_

Or he could play it super-safe: _so do you finally understand derivatives of exponential functions?_

In the end, though, he just goes to bed without texting Daichi anything.

***

 **Suga:** hey asahi (°▽°)/ does daichi ever text you anything weird?

 **Asahi:** weird?

 **Asahi:** oh…

 **Asahi:** so he’s been texting you about re-caulking his parents’ bathroom too huh

***

“Can I come over after school again today?” Daichi asks when the team is taking a break during practice. There’s a dark triangle down the middle of his t-shirt and two stripes under his armpits where he’s sweated through the fabric. The sleeves are rolled up over his big shoulders, and the way he’s standing with one hand on his hip makes all the muscles in his arm stand out. Suga tries not to stare.

“Okay,” says Suga, too startled to come up with a snappy retort. Daichi was quiet in all their classes and didn’t say much at lunch, leaving Suga and Asahi on their own to debate the purpose of Bokuto’s weird thigh-high kneepads (“Compression?” suggested Asahi; “Sexiness?” countered Suga). Suga has been sort of worried that Daichi is avoiding him or something.

“Are you guys doing homework again?” Asahi asks, and Suga wrestles with the urge to lovingly punch Asahi right in his sweet, manly, innocent face.

Before Asahi can ask to join them, though, Nishinoya reaches up to tug the back of Asahi’s t-shirt, and Asahi flinches away from him in surprise. “Asahi-san, you promised you’d stay late and serve for me! If you bail to do boring homework, I’ll never forgive you and I’ll curse all your children!”

“Okay, okay!” says Asahi, waving his hands nervously as Nishinoya bounces around him. “Sorry! I’ll stay!”

Suga wants to sweep Nishinoya up in a tender embrace and buy him a million popsicles. He’s never before experienced such an overwhelming outpouring of affection for their tiny, crazy libero. This must be what parenthood is like.

Suga and Daichi walk home together afterwards. Suga thinks about what Yaku said last night. He thinks _I should say something_ and thinks _well maybe I’ll wait a bit longer to see if he brings it up first_ and thinks _I’m going to spend the rest of my life doing this, aren’t I_ and thinks _we’ll be eighty and I’ll finally say hey Daichi, remember that time we sexted when we were in high school, well were you really into it, because I was really into it, and by the way, what did you mean when you said you’d do anything I wanted…_

“I’m thinking about moving to Thailand and becoming a monk,” says Suga, because neither of them have said anything for a few minutes and the silence feels weird.

“Please don’t,” says Daichi.

“Why not? I think the robe thingy would look good on me.”

“Yeah, but you’d have to meditate and stuff. You’d never be able to keep quiet that long.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m very quiet and meek by nature.”

“Oh, right, yeah, I forgot,” says Daichi, rolling his eyes. “You’d have to shave off your hair, though.”

“Hmm, true, that would be a shame. I have such beautiful hair…”

“You do,” Daichi agrees, and then looks away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Suga makes an effort to swallow down the lump in his throat, which he assumes is his heart ricocheting excitedly around inside his chest.

The smell of frying garlic wafts down the hall when they step through Suga’s front door and slip their shoes off. His mom is home from work early today, already starting dinner.

“Hi, Mom,” says Suga, sticking his head into the kitchen. “Daichi’s here to do homework, is that okay?”

“Hi, Sugawara-san,” Daichi says politely.

“Oh! Daichi-kun! Are you staying for dinner?” his mom asks. She’s smiling, but she also casts an anxious look at the piece of pork sitting out on the counter. Usually when Daichi stays for dinner, she has to make a double-batch of everything, because Daichi eats as much as Suga and his mom combined.

“My parents are expecting me home tonight, actually,” says Daichi. “Do you need any help?”

Suga’s mom beams at him. Daichi is always so courteous; she loves him, even though he doubles their grocery bill whenever he stays for meals. Sometimes in the evening she’ll have a couple of beers and get all weepy and start saying things like _oh, he’s such a nice boy, so responsible, I’m so glad you have such nice friends, such good male role models_ . Her tone suggests she thinks her poor, fatherless son might have been into hard drugs and international arms trafficking by now without Daichi to keep him from going astray. _Yes, Mom, he’s such a good, wholesome influence_ , Suga thinks, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

“Well, actually, if you’re offering—” his mom starts, but Suga is faster, grabbing Daichi’s wrist and hauling him towards the stairs.

“Sorry, Mom, lots of homework to do!” Suga calls. “We’ll be in my room!”

 _Okay, this is it_ , Suga tells himself as he slides the door of his room shut behind them a minute later, sucking in a deep breath, preparing to turn around to face Daichi. He’s going to take Yaku’s advice and Talk About It. He takes one more deep breath, just for good measure, and then turns around and says, “Daichi, about the other night—”

“Can I kiss you,” says Daichi, the words stumbling over each other, the question-mark getting lost somewhere along the way. He’s standing a lot closer than Suga expected, close enough that he could reach out and touch Suga if he wanted, although right now his hands are jammed in the pockets of his shorts.

“Oh, um, okay, sure,” says Suga, totally caught off guard.

Daichi nods curtly, as if Suga’s just agreed to help him put the net away after practice. His face is serious. He steps closer and leans forward and kisses Suga right on the mouth.

Suga thinks, _holy shit, Daichi’s kissing me_ . And then, when Daichi starts to pull away, Suga thinks _okay, he’s done kissing me, so now we should talk, like Yaku suggested_. And then, before Daichi has made it very far, Suga grabs Daichi’s t-shirt and pulls him back in closer and kisses him again.

He’s never kissed anyone before so he has no idea what he’s doing—he hopes Daichi can’t tell—but Daichi’s mouth feels really nice against his, and then Daichi puts a tentative hand in his hair, cradling the back of Suga’s head, and Suga melts a little bit, pressing closer against Daichi’s chest, sliding his arms around Daichi’s back. He lets his lips part slightly, just putting the suggestion out there, and Daichi’s mouth opens against his and he can feel Daichi’s tongue, and that feels _really_ nice. Daichi’s crowding him against the door now, which is weirdly hot, even though Suga sort of worries that if they lean too hard the door will snap right off its track.

Does Daichi expect him to deliver on all that garbage Suga texted him? Oh God. Well, Suga can give it a shot. He read that whole article in the peppy women’s magazine, after all, even the recommendations for blowjob-proof lipsticks, which had been confusing (were you _required_ to wear lipstick to give a blowjob?) until he remembered that he wasn’t exactly the magazine’s intended audience (but hey, Shisheido Modern Matte Powder Lipstick in Hyper Red, ¥3548 at Mitsukoshi, now he knows). Suga thinks he could probably manage an okay blowjob, nothing stellar, but passably mid-range, a solid C or maybe even a B if he were being graded, provided Daichi’s standards aren’t too high.

He’s nervous, but thinking about it is already getting him kind of worked up, especially with the heat of Daichi’s body pressed against him and Daichi’s teeth tugging very gently at his bottom lip. He can feel himself starting to get hard, and the way Daichi shifts his thigh between Suga’s legs makes him think Daichi can tell he’s getting hard too, which somehow isn’t as embarrassing as he thought it might be. Suga doesn’t know what the precise definitional boundary between kissing and making out is, but they’ve definitely passed it now.

Daichi tugs Suga’s shirt up right under his armpits until Suga takes the hint and they break apart long enough for Daichi to pull it off over his head. Suga slips his hands under Daichi’s shirt and runs them up his back—it’s summer, it’s hot out, Daichi’s sweaty, Suga doesn’t care—runs them all the way up his back until he can grasp at Daichi’s shoulders which, oh, wow, his shoulders are so nice, _so_ nice. Suga digs his nails in a bit and Daichi makes a tiny surprised noise against his mouth and kisses him harder, touching his stomach, his arms, his back, even brushing over his nipples, which Suga really likes.

The door creaks under Suga’s weight and so, sensing imminent disaster, Suga nudges Daichi backwards. They stumble over in the general direction of Suga’s bed until the backs of Daichi’s knees hit the edge of the mattress and he collapses with a startled grunt, pulling Suga down on top of him. Suga shifts his position, a little awkwardly, until he’s straddling Daichi’s lap, and then he can grind down against Daichi, which is how he discovers that Daichi is hard too, which, holy shit. So they make out like that for a while, both of them starting to pant, Suga’s mouth damp with Daichi’s saliva, or maybe his own. They’re both so sweaty by now that Suga keeps sliding around on top of Daichi, but every so often he manages to get the angle right as he bucks his hips against Daichi’s and he can feel heat spiking all the way through his body like lightning as the head of his cock rubs against Daichi’s through their shorts, and he lets himself moan against Daichi’s mouth because that seems to make Daichi’s hands move over his bare skin even more frantically.

Suga tells himself _okay, Koushi, here we go, make that magazine editor proud._ He stops kissing Daichi so he can slide down to kneel on the floor between Daichi’s legs, just the way he imagined doing the other night. Daichi sits up, his face all red, his chest heaving, still clutching Suga’s discarded t-shirt in one hand. Suga nudges Daichi’s knees gently apart so he has more space and for the first time actually sees Daichi’s hard-on straining through his shorts, which is somehow even hotter than he’d imagined. He reaches down to rub himself through his shorts instinctively, then stops, embarrassed, when he notices Daichi watching him.

Suga tries to run very quickly through the magazine’s key tips: there was something about mouthwash to stimulate salivation, well, it’s too late for that—uh, okay, there was the thing about using your tongue on the underside of the head, he can definitely do that, and oh crap, there were a bunch of other things to do with your tongue, but he can’t remember them now, okay, never mind those—and something about the balls, were you supposed to touch them, or put your tongue on them, or maybe you _weren’t_ supposed to touch them? Is there some surreptitious way he can pull his phone out to double-check without Daichi noticing?

Suga rubs his thumbs over Daichi’s hipbones and Daichi’s whole body twitches. Daichi’s legs are trembling, Suga realizes. When Suga splays a hand against the inside of one thigh, the muscles are all tensed and tight.

“Are you okay?” Suga asks, glancing up at Daichi, who’s biting his lip. “Is that too ticklish?”

“I, yeah, no, that’s, I’m okay, that’s fine,” says Daichi, nodding jerkily. “I, uh—yeah. It’s good. Keep going.”

“Okay,” says Suga. He thinks, slightly hysterically, _I’m going to lose my virginity in my bedroom with my mom downstairs in the kitchen chopping carrots;_ he thinks _I’m going to have to go back down there in an hour and eat dinner with my mom and pretend I didn’t just suck my nice, responsible best friend’s dick upstairs while we were supposed to be doing our math homework…_

He undoes the button on Daichi’s shorts and tugs the zipper down over the bulge. His fingers brush over Daichi’s cock, still covered by his underwear, and Daichi twitches again. Okay. Here he goes. He’s going to do this. He slips his fingers under the waistband of Daichi’s underwear, right where the trail of dark hair disappears under the elastic—

“Actually can we stop,” says Daichi, all in a rush, the question-mark once again trampled into oblivion.

“Huh?” Suga says vaguely. He’s thinking about the magazine article again, hoping to jog his memory on the matter of what to do with the balls, but then the words register, and he looks up at Daichi and says, “Oh, sure, of course. Did I do something wrong?”

“No…” Daichi says, and doesn’t elaborate. He tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling. Suga sits there between Daichi’s knees for a minute, resting his hands awkwardly on his own thighs, not really sure what to do. Eventually he moves so that he’s beside Daichi’s legs instead, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed. So now they’re both just sitting in Suga’s bedroom, not looking at each other, both still hard, Suga shirtless, Daichi’s shorts undone, neither of them talking. Hmm. The peppy women’s magazine didn’t prepare him for this.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Suga asks after a while.

“Yeah, sorry,” Daichi mumbles. Suga rests his head against Daichi’s knee, and Daichi hesitantly starts combing his fingers through Suga’s hair, so that’s a good sign.

Suga wracks his brain for something to say, something non-sexy, something normal, something neutral. “So I hear you want to re-caulk your parents’ bathroom,” he says.

“Oh… yeah,” says Daichi. “My parents’ anniversary is next month, and the caulking needs redoing, so I thought it might be nice to do it for them. I watched a couple of videos online and it doesn’t look too hard.”

“What is caulk, anyway? It’s like rubber, right?”

“Yeah, usually people use acrylic latex. But you can get vinyl latex too, which apparently lasts longer, or silicone, which is resistant to mould…”

“Interesting,” says Suga, even though it’s not interesting at all, even though it’s the most boring thing he’s ever heard in his life. “So which one are you going to use?”

“Silicone, probably. Um.” Daichi heaves a deep breath, and his fingers stop moving in Suga’s hair. “Sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? It’s your bathroom. Do whatever you want.”

“No, I mean for…”

“Oh—right. Look, it’s fine. You should have said something earlier.”

“Yeah, I just, I thought I wanted to, but…”

“That’s okay,” says Suga. He’s disappointed, but also kind of relieved. This means he’ll have a chance to re-read the magazine article, maybe take some notes, maybe make some flashcards, before next time. If there’s a next time. He’s still pretty confused about what just happened.

“It’s just, well, you’ve done this before, right?” says Daichi, and Suga twists around to look up at him, frowning.

“What? Of course not.”

Daichi frowns back at him. “But—the other night—I mean, you sounded like you knew what you were talking about—and Kuroo said—”

“Since when did Kuroo become the expert on my nonexistent sex life? I just looked a bunch of stuff up on the internet, that’s all.”

“You did? Seriously?” says Daichi.

Suga nods, and pulls his phone out of the pocket of his shorts so he can show Daichi the magazine article, which is still open in his browser from the other night. For demonstrative purposes, Suga scrolls through a couple of the article’s pointers. “See? It’s got tips about not gagging and stuff. Apparently there’s a thing you can do with your tongue…”

“Oh… wow,” says Daichi. “I think my mom reads that magazine.”

 _Wow_ indeed. If Mrs. Sawamura reads the same magazine that has recently taught Suga everything he knows about oral sex, then that means—

“Don’t,” snaps Daichi.

“I didn’t say anything!” Suga protests.

“You were going to make a sex joke about my parents. I could see it in your eyes.”

Suga grumbles a bit, but he can’t muster a genuine protest, because that is in fact exactly what he’d been about to do.

“So you’ve really never…” Daichi says, trailing off vaguely. He resumes stroking Suga’s hair, and Suga leans back into the touch. It feels really nice—not in the same way as all the making out, but still really nice.

“Nope,” Suga confirms. “I mean, unless Kuroo says otherwise, in which case I guess I’d have to defer to his expertise…”

“Okay,” says Daichi. “Um. I haven’t either.”

“Yes, I’d sort of figured that out,” says Suga. Daichi scowls and flicks him in the back of the head, but he seems way more relaxed now. His legs have stopped trembling, anyway. Out of curiosity, Suga adds, “So tell me, why exactly has the Nekoma captain decided that I’m the biggest hussy in Miyagi?”

“That’s not—he didn’t—he doesn’t think that! I just—I asked him for advice, that’s all. After… you know. The other night.”

“Oh? What did he say?” Suga asks. He hears a lot about Kuroo from Daichi, and Yaku, and even Tsukishima, albeit grudgingly, but he doesn’t know Kuroo all that well himself, outside of his evil grin and eternal bedhead and infuriatingly good blocking.

“Mostly he just laughed at me,” Daichi admits. “And then he said if I was so intimidated by all your worldly experience, I had to grasp my fear by its trembling throat and take control of the situation.”

“That’s impressively terrible advice…”

“In retrospect, I think maybe he just meant I should tell you I like you, but yeah,” says Daichi.

Mochi chooses this moment to emerge from under Suga’s desk, baring her teeth in a huge yawn and blinking at them disdainfully, as if thoroughly unimpressed by Suga and Daichi’s disgraceful and inappropriate conduct.

“Crap—I didn’t realize she was in here,” says Suga, even as he reaches out to scratch her under her chin. “Mochi, you’d better not rat me out to Mom, or I’ll hide your pink mouse toy forever. Okay? Do we have a deal?”

Daichi starts to laugh. “Suga, you’re so weird…”

“Says the guy still holding my shirt! Are you waiting for me to autograph it for you or something?”

“Well, I didn’t want to just drop it on the floor—”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but my floor is very clean.”

“Clean enough to lick rayu off?” Daichi asks, grinning, and Suga grins back. He doesn’t think this is exactly what Yaku had in mind when he suggested talking things over with Daichi, but it all seems to have worked out okay, anyway.

***

 **Daichi:** Hey, I guess I should have been clearer about this in person when I was at your house, but I really like you. Just in general, not only the sex stuff. I mean, the sex stuff too. So. I’m just putting that out there, I guess.

 **Suga:** (❤ω❤)

 **Suga:** I really like you too

 **Suga:** I like you so much

 **Daichi:** As much as you like taberu rayu?

 **Suga:** well now let’s not get ahead of ourselves

 **Suga:** but you might be a close second

 **Daichi:** Haha, well, I’ll take what I can get.

 **Suga:** Σ>―(〃°ω°〃)♡→ look that’s you… so in love with me… 

**Daichi:** Says the guy who wants to put his dick in a jar of rayu.

 **Suga:** jealousy is unbecoming on you, sawamura!!!

 **Suga:** hey by the way I’ve had an excellent idea!! when we get married we should name our two beautiful children taberu rayu and logarithmic differentiation… to commemorate the start of our blossoming romance… (≧◡≦) ♡

 **Daichi:** Absolutely not. I’m going to bed.

 **Suga:** daichi???

 **Suga:** daichiiiiiiii

 **Suga:** (╬ Ò﹏Ó)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in a Supernatural fic I wrote for the 2013 DCBB, I somewhat infamously included a discussion of home renovation best practices in the middle of a sex scene, a stylistic choice that I unconsciously repeated here. is this my trademark as a writer?? if so, why??? I know nothing about caulking...
> 
> come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://huntingthehaggis.tumblr.com/)


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